


Sub Rosa

by Janice_Lester



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Crack, M/M, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-26 19:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim snoops about in the message buffers, seeing what his crew are writing to each other when they're supposed to be working.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sub Rosa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nix_this](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nix_this/gifts).



> Silliness and crack. Written as a gift for [](http://nix-this.livejournal.com/profile)[nix_this](http://nix-this.livejournal.com/). Happy (upcoming) Birthday!

Stardate 2260.131 0912:00

_Commander Spock,_

_I have a brace of ensigns down here who are, not to put too fine a point on it, stoned out of their precious undersized gourds. That is to say, they have availed themselves of some form of intoxicant, which they have, if I understand ‘em correctly, smoked or otherwise inhaled. Apparently they weren’t at all worried by their symptoms until the giant glowing scorpions appeared and demanded their stamp collections(?), whereupon they raced down here so fast their tachycardia had the bio-beds in conniptions from ten paces away (this is how Nurse Chapel tells it; I confess I had some difficulty understanding their bleating and blithering). I can discipline the fools just fine, but I thought you might want to investigate the source of the dope. There’s nothing fits the bill in sickbay stores, and nothing missing, anyway, so they didn’t get it from here._

_McCoy._

Stardate 2260.131 0912:35

_Thank you, Doctor, I will investigate with some alacrity. Spock._

 

Stardate 2260.131 0912:56

_Doctor McCoy is singing in his office again, guess he still thinks we can’t hear him. It’s so adorable. Christine._

 

_That’s so sweet that his work makes him happy! Send me a recording? I could use the cheering up. I’m knee-deep in warp core nano-tubing, and Scotty wants his miracle before lunch today. Hatch._

 

Stardate 2260.131 1345:23

_Confidential notice to Science Department personnel:_

_Access to facilities and garden plots in Botany Lab One and the ship’s arboretum for personal projects is a privilege. While it is not expected that this privilege will be employed exclusively or even primarily for the advancement of science, it is expected that the use tends at least towards some productive or beneficial end. In case this point is unclear, examples of appropriate and inappropriate usage of the aforementioned facilities are here appended._

_Appropriate use:_

_\- Genetic manipulation of favourite crop species from your home-world so that these may be grown with acceptable yield aboard ship, thus enabling a wider, more satisfying diet_  
- _Production of aesthetically-pleasing or pleasantly fragrant botanicals_  
- _Development of experimental cross-breeds_  
- _Gaining mastery of plant husbandry techniques through repetition_

_Inappropriate use:_

_\- Production of unauthorised pharmaceuticals_

__

 

_Your compliance with these expectations is required._

_Cmdr. Spock._

 

Jim likes snooping around in the message buffers. You learn things that way, things people don’t necessarily want you to know, but that they aren’t taking huge trouble to hide. Things that get quietly taken care of at lower levels of the chain of command and somehow never officially make it across his desk. Friendships and more between unlikely members of the crew. Secrets exchanged over official _Enterprise_ comm frequencies rather than private ones. Sometimes he has to bite his lip to keep from laughing right there on the bridge. And he might even feel guilty for that, if he didn’t have reason to believe that dear Bones chortles daily over a long-running “favourite things your idiot patients have said” thread on a physicians’ forum he frequents, and that Uhura reads Klingon graphic novels when she gets bored and counts it towards her professional development hours.

There’s a round-robin story going around on G-deck. It’s about the very brave, manly, and none-too-bright Captain Berk, who last Jim heard had come face to face with an Evil Tentacle Monster while trapped in a cave and armed only with a dead phaser and a command gold tunic of dubious structural integrity. He’s tempted to contribute a line about the lithe, dazzling, and dangerously snarky Commander Mock busting in to save the day, but he figures the regular participants might notice that the new message originated from the bridge.

Below decks, Keenser is leading some kind of leaflet and petition campaign against the enlisted crew’s mess. Jim decides he’ll keep an eye on that one. Not good for crew morale if they feel like they’re being both ignored _and_ served shitty food. Still, there are _ways_ to complain…

Stardate 2260.131 1915:17

 

_Lieutenant-Commander Bunton,_

_I’ve heard rumblings of dissatisfaction about the quality and suitability of meals being served to enlisted personnel, but I can’t seem to find anything on this subject in your weekly reports. Please explain._

_Thanks ever so much,_

_Captain James T. Kirk._

 

Stardate 2260.131 1915:32

_Shirley, can you forward me those letters complaining about the food? I appear to have accidentally transferred them to the circular file unread. Thanks, Bunty._

 

Stardate 2260.131 1916:09

_You’re lucky I keep copies of everything, sir. And please don’t call me Shirley. Yeoman Clark._

 

Stardate 2260.132 0900:00

_Doctor McCoy,_

_The work these unwise ensigns have done enhancing the hallucinogenic properties of the Elysian tumbleweed is really most impressive. Would you care to review their research with me this evening, perhaps over a fermented fruit beverage of your choosing?_

_Spock._

 

 

_you asking what I think you’re asking? LHM._

 

Stardate 2260.132 1000:45

_Captain Kirk,_

_I am diligently looking into the matter, and will report my findings at the appropriate juncture._

_Thank you for your concern in this matter._

_Lieutenant-Commander Bunton._

 

Stardate 2260.132 1002:12

 

_My sweet and lovely, brilliant and terrible Yeoman Rand, She Who Maketh All to Run Smoothly:_

_Please fish out my naughty and nice list, aka promotions file, and let me know where Bunton stands? He seems to be angling to drop a few places, I think his authority may be going to his head._

_PS, are you able to offer any (confidential) insight re: quality of food served to officers vs enlisted crew?_

_XX,_

_Giant Jimbo._

 

Stardate 2260.132 1002:16

_Two pieces of free insight, Captain, and then you gotta pay. ;-)_

_1) enlisted crew everywhere think they get second-best. Some even think it’s deliberate, to help enforce officers’ authority.  
2) they’re usually right. About the first part, anyway._

_Rand._

 

Stardate 2260.133 0934:07

_Honestly, Jane, he looks awful. Definitely hungover. He’s forgotten to shave, his eyes are all sunken, his uniform’s rumpled—but is he acting like a bear with a sore head as per usual? Oh, no. He’s WHISTLING. Right out here on the ward. CHEERFULLY. In front of PATIENTS. I tell you, it’s surreal. Christine._

 

Oooh, Jim thinks. Oooh. Someone got L-A-I-D last night, huh? You go, Bonesy.

There’s still nothing from Bunton’s department about the complaints. This is starting to irritate Jim, and not just because he had a bad time during one semester at the Academy when a new cook decided accommodating students’ special meal requirements was optional. This is potentially a major morale issue, and, besides, he really doesn’t see why his awesome enlisted people shouldn’t eat every bit as well as his awesome officer people. Not to mention, he’s kinda pissed that “Bunty” doesn’t seem to be taking his role seriously.

“Spock?”

Spock straightens from where he’s been bent over his scanner, staring at asteroids or whatever for an hour or more. He does it easily, smoothly, as if Vulcans just damn well don’t get stiff or sore from standing in awkward positions for extended periods. “Captain?”

“Not exactly your field, but I need to know whether any of the crew have special dietary needs requiring special kitchen equipment that isn’t duplicated between the two kitchens and can’t easily be moved.”

Spock doesn’t even blink. “The two facilities are identical except for trivial variations in layout and a single portable food processing unit used exclusively for the needs of our crewmen from Venti IV, both of whom are enlisted personnel.”

“And each mess is designed to cope with about the same number of diners per meal period?”

“Designed, but not currently staffed. A higher than anticipated proportion of enlisted personnel have opted to use the food slot machines and seldom visit the mess.”

Jim nods. Tries to decide whether his evil plan is actually, you know, evil. “Next break between scheduled dining periods? When can I speak to the kitchen staff without delaying their work too much?”

“Seven minutes,” Spock says. His eyebrows rise. “I take it I have the conn?”

Jim grins. Man, he loves this having-a-first-officer thing.

 

Stardate 2260.133 1746:13

_Hey, Babe, I mite get 2 cook 4 the captin 2nite! Brad._

_Awesome! Don’t let him know you can’t spell. ;-) Marge._

_Hey, Keenser, get down to the mess! They’ve swapped over the cooks and everything, so we’ve got the officers’ mess people cooking for us! The flarn smells AMAZING! Did you make this happen? I bet you did. Squeaky wheel gets the grease, right? Hatch._

_Flarn, you say? Not limp, dry, desiccated imitation flarn? Actual flarn? I would sell my second-best soul for some decent flarn. Save me a seat! HERE I COME! Keenser._

 

_Ralph, it’s not a question of persuasion. Doesn’t matter what I tell him, he’ll say no, and he’ll be right to. That’s why I don’t plan on asking him. Our relationship goes a lot better when it’s forgiveness I ask for, not permission. Or better still, when the modification shows useful in the heat of battle and there’s just no way to argue with the fact I’ve saved our skins. Anyway, lad, you can cease your whining and just requisition me the parts. I’ll take the heat, if heat comes. My arse is pretty-well flame-proof these days. Scott._

 

Jim fumes for thirty-five seconds, long enough to watch the buffered message sent and a copy safely archived before it disappears from the memory buffer. Then he relaxes. He’s the captain. He’s the big scary man beast of the _Enterprise_. He can handle this.

_Commander Montgomery Scott,_

_You may want to think about conducting future conspiracies on an encoded frequency. In the meantime, please see me in the next FIVE DAMN MINUTES, suitably contrite._

_Kirk._

 

_Doctor, Ensign Raynard has apologised for his psychedelic-drug growing and now requests permission in advance to grow a small crop of yield-enhanced Alaphasian strawberries. I thought you might like to know. Spock._

 

_Well, now, Spock, aren’t those a famed aphrodisiac? And delicious to boot?_

 

_I have no knowledge of the matter. I suggest you educate me on the subject in approximately six weeks’ time, at which point we may examine and dutifully confiscate the crop. I am confident that we could find a use for such exotic fruit. Spock._

 

_Green and irritating though you may be, I do like the way you think._

 

_Gentlemen. The shipboard comm system during work hours is not the place for your unrepentant flirting. Kisses, Captain Kirk._

 

Oh, yes. Jim does love messing about in the message buffers.

***END***


End file.
